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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520277">Watching Stars Collide</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/platonicharmonics/pseuds/platonicharmonics'>platonicharmonics</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>We Two Boys Together Clinging [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(almost but not quite), Angst With A Bittersweet Ending, Codependency, Demiromantic Dutch van der Linde, Dutch van der Linde Has Bipolar 1, Dutch van der Linde Has Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healthy Relationships, Hosea Matthews Has Major Depressive Disorder, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Slow Dancing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:34:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,956</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520277</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/platonicharmonics/pseuds/platonicharmonics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One night in the wake of the Blackwater Massacre and Colter, Dutch gets Low to a dangerous degree, and seeks out the one person he believes can pull him up out of the pit his mind has fallen in-</p><p>-Only to find out that Hosea is just as Low.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde, Molly O'Shea/Dutch van der Linde (Unrequited)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>We Two Boys Together Clinging [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Watching Stars Collide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>Content Warning</b> for <b>emotional abuse</b> (Molly truly deserves so much better); intense, in-depth, graphic, and extremely explicit depictions of <b>self-harm ideation</b>; references to <b>past self-harm</b>; vague <b>suicidal ideation</b>; and <b>unhealthy dependency</b> (these men need therapists).</p><p>I've been having... a very... apocalyptic time in my personal life. My mental health is in the worst state it's been in in years due to a slew of crises, and I was moved to write all of this in one day as a way to vent and cope and find some catharsis. I hope that y'all enjoy this ♥</p><p>The title is taken from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8P6oBWGrAM">Shallows by Daughter</a>, which I also listened to on repeat as I wrote this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>New Hanover, 1899</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dutch?” Molly murmured, shifting in their bed and rolling slightly towards him, reaching out a hand to graze her groggy fingertips along the back of his union suit, along the length of his spine. "My love, come to bed. What are you still doing up?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch could only keep staring forward at the canvas of his tent, glassy-eyed. Not because he had no words - but because he had too many. Far too many words, far too many voices, scratching up and down his skull and slithering down his insides to boil the contents of his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dutch?" Molly repeated, her voice clearer and gentler. He felt her push herself up, heard her grunt softly from the effort, felt her mold herself around his back and weave her arms around his stomach. "A mhuirnín, is something wrong?" She attempted to rest her head on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The din in his head only grew louder, sharpening into jagged snarls and roars, and he recoiled from her touch, pulling himself away to perch on the very edge of the bed, his hand clasping white-knuckled around his forearm, digging its fingertips into the flesh that bore a neat row of long-healed scars as the well-known and wretched </span>
  <em>
    <span>ache</span>
  </em>
  <span> sharpened to a fever pitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"...Did I do something wrong?" Molly asked, her voice wavering, and the sound of it made the ache explode into a </span>
  <em>
    <span>need need need.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shut up, you're fine, stop talking," Dutch snapped, pushing himself up to his feet to snatch his shirt where it hung on the chair and shrug it on. Molly sat on the bed, staring at him with wet doe-eyes as he continued frantically getting dressed, tucking in his shirt and pulling on his socks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he shoved his feet into his boots and grabbed for his waistcoat, she grew frantic. "Wait, wait, wait, what's wrong? Dutch, what's wrong? I can help! Let me help!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand snatched up his straight-razor and held it like a vice. Without looking at her, his chin tucked down towards his chest, he growled, "You can't help."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard her heave a breath. "Is this about what happened in Blackwater?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>NEED NEED NEED NEED</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A cluster of warring words in warring voices rushed up his throat and got stuck, binding his tongue, and it was all he could do to throw her a manic, warning glare over his shoulder before yanking the ties open on his tent flap and storming outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cool night air of Horseshoe Overlook rushed over him and speared down into his lungs as he gasped for air and shivered. He looked down at the straight-razor in his trembling hand and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>noise</span>
  </em>
  <span> in his head shook itself out into a scattered frenzy, tingling down his skin to tug him in a thousand different directions, to make a thousand different decisions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>flick</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the straight-razor opening made one line of thought louder than the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That's the point, isn't it? </span>
  </em>
  <span>It</span>
  <em>
    <span> makes it all go quiet. Everything will be okay again if you can just bleed it out.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A wave of nausea washed up from his stomach, making him sway on his feet and snap the razor shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was not his first battle with that particular sentiment, and it surely would not be his last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he'd made a </span>
  <em>
    <span>promise,</span>
  </em>
  <span> ten years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Half of the noise in his head roared at him that he and increasingly everyone around him was growing to learn the true value of Dutch van der Linde's </span>
  <em>
    <span>promises.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The other half screamed that he'd already broken </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> heart, had already hurt </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> quite enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch tucked the straight-razor into his waistcoat pocket and began to delicately make his way through the sleeping camp towards the main fire and the tents that encircled it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach dropped when he saw the empty bedroll between the sleeping forms of Lenny and Bill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as the din exploded again, Bill, ever the light sleeper from whatever horrors he'd endured in the Army, snorted awake with a gasp, scrambling his fingers towards a gun that wasn't there as his eyes flew open and struggled to focus on Dutch. "Hunh?! What?! ...Boss?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch blinked. "Where's Hosea?" he whispered, mindful of the restless twitching of Lenny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill slowly let out an exhausted breath and rubbed at his eyes. "He went, unh… that a way? A little while ago? I think?" he slurred, pointing towards the cliff ledge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch wet his lips and swallowed, eyes locked in the direction of the cliff-face. "Thank you, Bill," he said absently, and started walking off towards the ridge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spotted the silhouette of Hosea sitting on the rock he seemed to have grown so fond of, overlooking the buttes and mesas that loomed like old guardian shadows over the almost celestial scrubland below, painted in light, cool hues of indigo that reflected the night sky, radiant with twinkling stars and the brilliant glow of a full moon, staring down at the world like an all-seeing eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Dutch got closer, his frown deepened at the look on Hosea's face. He knew all too well what the harsh lines around his mouth meant, what weight bowed his spine and his head downwards, what glass coated his eyes to make them an empty, reflective mirror of the world around him, open but unseeing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, warily, Dutch sank down onto the rock to sit beside him, careful not to touch him, sitting straight and rigid with his knee bouncing while Hosea sat slumped forward and deathly still like a thrown-away doll.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head… was so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>loud.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Novels worth of words churned in his chest like a hurricane, lashing his throat like rain, fighting to make their way out of his mouth, but only one emerged victorious. The only one he needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hosea."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A long stretch of silence passed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"...Dutch," Hosea answered, slow and quiet, like the very act of speaking, of forming words, was a great and terrible weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch swallowed and rubbed his hands together, looking down at them before looking up at the sky and forward at the horizon. "How… How're you doin'?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another long stretch of silence passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch finally looked to the side at Hosea and saw the man close his eyes and pinch his brow, his head falling forward to hang completely limp. Hosea let out a strained, heavy exhale that carried with it a whistle and rattle, and the cacophony in Dutch's head roared.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Hosea,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> he repeated. A plea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea's knee drifted over to knock against his, and the connection was like opposing charges in the sky and ground forming a link of lightning, piercing through the noise to anchor him to the Earth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch shoved his knee back harder, turning to fully look at him, desperate to deepen that connection, that anchor, and Hosea slowly lifted his head to look him in the eye - and the sight of the gray-gold of his irises was like a beacon, like the flare of a lighthouse across a stormy sea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dutch," Hosea said again, just as quiet, but a little easier, a little more sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They breathed at each other for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My head is so loud."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea's jaw tightened and his gaze fell. "Go busy yourself then."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But-" Dutch started, reaching out a hand to rest over Hosea's.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I can't do this tonight,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I'm sorry Dutch, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can't,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hosea breathed, turning away from him and curling into himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't pull away his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch squeezed it. Rubbed his thumb over the top of his wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's wrong?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea's eyes drifted shut. "I feel… so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired."</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dutch shifted closer, their shoulders almost touching, and Hosea shuddered, just a little. "And empty," he added. His eyes drifted open again, dull and unfocused. "I'm so tired that I can't even sleep. Can barely… think."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch's hand tightened even more. Words of kindness and comfort clashed with words of cruelty and frustration and came out as ash in his mouth. His hand tightened even more, and when Hosea hissed, it flew off. The hurricane raged on, and his breathing shifted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea's hand slid over and squeezed Dutch's knee. "I want… to stop… existing," he whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch stood up with a jolt and walked away to the cliff edge, crossing his arms to hold himself. A barrage of thoughts volleyed their way through his limbs, and he shivered. Itched.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Need need need need need</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of footsteps coming up behind him made his breathing grind to a halt in his throat. Hosea's figure settled to stand at his side, a mix of warm colors in the corner of his vision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't want to die," Hosea said quietly, and the side of Dutch's face burned under the attention of his stare. He looked further away. Gasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can't," Dutch ground out. He furrowed his brow, his expression twisting. "Want…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached into his waistcoat and shoved the straight-razor into Hosea's hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another long bout of silence passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Hosea started laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dry, hollow sound made Dutch turn his head to look at him, and Hosea shook his head absently at the razor before shoving it deep in his coat pocket, his gaze drifting to stare at Dutch's hip. "Ain't we just a couple of pitiful, broken fools?" he said softly. His hands were shaking. "What a goddamn night for us to both be feeling low, huh?" Hosea slowly lifted his head to meet his eyes again, his teeth bared slightly not in anger, but in pain. “Dutch… I got nothing for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stared at each other. Two men at the bottom of a hole, lost at sea, with no solid ground beneath either of them to pull the other to safety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Walk with me,” Dutch whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea blinked. Once, twice. “Walk with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch slowly, gently extended his hand. “Walk with me,” he said again, softer, gentler. His voice breaking slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea stared at him, searching for something. He must have found it, because slowly, his expression softened, his eyes clearing slightly. He lifted his hand and placed it into Dutch’s, and their fingers sank through each other, interlacing. Dutch squeezed, soft and reverent, two pulses like a heartbeat, and together they walked off towards the woods, slipping away from camp and into the shadows of the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just walking. Just moving. Just existing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Letting the function and effort of moving their feet, of navigating through the brush in the dark, of holding onto each other be their minds’ and their bodies’ sole tasks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, when Hosea’s breathing grew a bit too labored, they stopped on the edge of a clearing full of wildflowers, tucked into themselves to sleep and await the sun as the moonlight caressed their closed petals. Dutch guided them both to a fallen log and they sat together once more, their hands still linked together, their hearts strong and steady in their chests from the walk, summoning beads of perspiration in their temples despite the night chill, their limbs and muscles warm and so very alive, so very </span>
  <em>
    <span>present.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch looked to the side and caught Hosea looking, his eyes half-lidded. Dutch smiled, a gentle thing, and Hosea’s eyes almost closed as a soft smile graced his face, his head tucking down slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was reminded, all at once, of how Hosea always had the unique power to make darkness feel like safety. To make silence feel like sweet music. To make the voices a little more quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>was still there, but was overshadowed by a new need. A need to lean forward and tilt that chin up, to press his lips to his, to taste him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another thing that he would have to be denied, held back yet again by a promise he’d made to Hosea - this time in the wake of their flight from Montana just last year, their dreams of land and settling down consumed in a fire of Dutch’s own making. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea had been so tired, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Build me a house,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d said in some temporary camp in the Grizzlies, prying Dutch’s hands off of him when Dutch had tried to stop him from packing his things to move out of his tent. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You build me a house on property we own, and you can touch me again. And not a day before.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch picked up Molly a week later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch’s smile fell and he turned his head to look out at the meadow, gently squeezing Hosea’s hand again. Hosea squeezed back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You remember the night we met?” Hosea asked quietly a little while later, staring up at the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft breath of amusement blew out of Dutch’s nose. “How could I forget?” he murmured, following Hosea’s gaze up to the freckled light above.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We… stared up at the stars, just like this,” Hosea said softly. “Said we’d face the future together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch tightened his grip on Hosea’s hand just enough to pull himself over and down to rest his head on Hosea’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I felt something. That night.” A glance showed Hosea staring wide-eyed up at the sky. The moonlight reflected off of water gathered in his eyes, shimmering like the stars above. “I hadn’t felt anything in… a long, long, long time. Before that night." He huffed a humorless laugh. "I thought I was sick." His gaze fell to his lap before closing his eyes. “I feel… </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>sick, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch didn’t trust himself to open his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish you were the cure, but you aren’t,” Hosea continued, soft and quiet. “I don’t know what is. I don’t think there is any.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re my cure,” came out of Dutch’s throat, debris from the storm, and he bit his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea huffed, opening his eyes to look down at Dutch’s hair. “You need to stop medicating yourself with people, Dutch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the alternative?” Dutch asked, his tone quiet and flat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another stretch of silence settled between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A deep sigh from Hosea broke it as he shoved his shoulder against Dutch’s. “Working ourselves out of what ails us, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch rubbed his thumb over Hosea’s hand. “I can’t do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes you can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No I can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I can, you can,” Hosea said softly, nuzzling the top of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you can’t. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>haven’t.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t cured you either,” Hosea reminded, his voice splitting and cracking. “I can’t kill your demons just like you can’t kill mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch clenched his jaw and slowly, gently sat up, staring down at their hands. “Then what is this?” he whispered, rubbing his thumb over Hosea’s hand again. He used his other hand to undo his cuff and roll up his sleeves, baring the healed scars to the sky. “What is </span>
  <em>
    <span>this? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Because this? This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>something." </span>
  </em>
  <span>He heaved a breath. “We’re a team, Hosea. We’re partners. We need each other. I- </span>
  <em>
    <span>I need you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea’s other hand came over to wrap around his forearm, covering up the sight and causing Dutch to look up and meet his eyes again, and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>grief</span>
  </em>
  <span> overlaying his features made his breath hitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> need </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hosea whispered. "But I can’t always help you. And tonight, I don’t have the strength to help you. I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>how.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You can’t put this on me. Not tonight. And I-...” He opened his mouth as if to speak again, but the exhausted lines in his face suddenly deepened, and he turned away and sagged, his eyes glassing over again as a shadow fell over his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch stared at him, wide-eyed, his jaw clenched. Anything he could have done to help, said to help, was lost in the static scratching inside his skull, and the itch sharpened into a burning ache that screamed to be let out through his skin, that shrieked that if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>just let it out-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch stood up and pulled Hosea up with him, jarring him out of that shadow with a look of confused alarm as Dutch clung to him in a desperate, clutching embrace, his hands fisted and white-knuckled into the back of his coat, his face buried in the fur of his collar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea stood there, unmoving. His breaths coming in slow and steady. In… out. In… out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Dutch said, muffled into his collar, “it’s just about… finding enough comfort to keep our own heads above the water. Maybe that’s all we can ask for, in the end. Maybe that’s the best we can get. The best we can do for each other.” He trembled and clung tighter. “To not drown.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, carefully, Hosea’s arms came up to wrap around Dutch’s waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To not drown,” he repeated, quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay with me,” Dutch begged. “Just for tonight. Just… please… don’t leave me alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea tucked his nose against his temple and buried his face in Dutch’s hair, his arms winding tighter. “Maybe you and I can stay here and just… be sad for a while,” he breathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch huffed out a wet laugh. “Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt Hosea’s lips twitch upwards against his scalp before his weight melted against Dutch’s front, and Dutch shifted his feet to support him, lifting his head to tuck it over Hosea’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither one of them could tell who started swaying first, but the answering motion was effortless, a call and return etched deep into their very bones as they slow-danced in gentle circles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t heal anything. It didn’t fix anything. It couldn’t undo their mistakes, or bring their dead back to life. It couldn’t fill the yawning void in Hosea’s chest, or dissipate the storm raging in Dutch’s mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing was okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But their heads stayed above the water that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it had to be enough.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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